


Dark Days

by UptheBoards



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UptheBoards/pseuds/UptheBoards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James deals with his concussion while Brenden deals with James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a companion piece to "We All Make Trades," as I've carried over some things, but not quite. Same applies here, not beta'd.

“Concussions fucking suck.”

It does feel better to say it out loud James thinks, but it also make him feel the cabin fever a little bit more. Two days of staying inside, and most of that time was spent alone in his dark bedroom. James lets his head rest against the refrigerator, he grips the handle, knuckles whitening. The cold stainless steel is a relief against his clammy forehead. The nausea is bad today, he can barely stand.

James doesn’t think he’ll even make it back to his bedroom. The second floor master was really a bad choice at this juncture.

Strong arms are suddenly wrapping around his waist and a callused hand grips his forearm, steadying him. James opens his eyes slowly and Brenden is at his side, brows furrowed. “I’m fine,” James snaps. He tries to push away from the fridge but Brenden holds them there, unmoving. “You’re not, how long have you been standing there, Kid?”

“Like two seconds, thanks.” He pushes again, elbowing Brenden in the stomach as he twists away. James’ head spins from the small amount of physical exertion and he stumbles, falling to his knees. James doesn’t move any father, he stays on all fours, breathing deep. Brenden is there instantly, crouching down beside him with a hand on his back.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” James snarls into Brenden’s face. If they weren’t inches apart, James thinks he would have missed it but he sees the hurt flash across Brenden’s features before it’s wiped away. 

Brenden doesn’t say anything, he just straightens up and walks off. James watches Brenden’s feet as he leaves before he commits to heave himself off the floor. Once he does, James leans against the counter for support, his elbows down against the smooth granite. 

“Where are you going?” He shouts into the house.

“God fucking damn it,” he mumbles when his ears start to ring and his temple throbs. He shuts his eyes again, and rests his head in his hands

He hears the front door close, rather quietly considering it is solid wood and hard to even open after a bag skate, and nothing else. Another day in an empty house. James rubs at his temples. 

His house-mate Brenden had flown back to Dallas on a redeye following their game against the Rangers. James hadn’t even seen his friend since he’d gone past the bench and to the room after the hit. He hadn’t even known that Brenden was back in Pittsburgh yet. 

James grabs his breakfast shake, the real reason for coming downstairs, and starts to head back up to his cave. He’s thankful Paulie had offered to make him a few meals the night before, otherwise he’d be down 10 pounds of muscle before the week was up. He has to stop midway up the stairs when everything spins, but he doesn’t go down. A small victory. 

He means to go back to his own bedroom, but ends up standing in the door of Brenden’s chosen room. There are three new suitcases, two are stacked against the wall unopened, but there is one on the bed, lid thrown open. James knows he shouldn’t snoop, that’s a dick move, having a housemate is all about trust. Of course by the time he thinks this all through he is already sitting down on the edge of the bed next to the suitcase. 

It’s filled with hockey stuff. James smiles, how very Brenden that that would be the first bag he opens. There’s a Stars jersey sitting right on top and James can’t help himself, he runs his fingers over the embroidery before taking the jersey out. When he does, a framed photograph slips out from the folds of the jersey and lands lightly on the bed, face down. James runs through a list of what the one photograph that Brenden would carry around would be and settles on first goal before picking it up and turning it over. 

When Brenden comes home, he doesn’t look for James right away. He instead tiptoes up to his room, eager to change into a set of clothes that hadn’t been worn on a plane. By time he’d gotten in that morning, it was already time to meet Paulie and head to the rink for practice. 

He gets to the foot of the bed before he even notices that James is there. The younger forward is curled up, eyes closed and breathing deeply, must be asleep. Brenden scrubs a hand over his face, not sure how to proceed. He could be an asshole and wake James so he can nap like he intended or leave him to sleep. He slowly starts to walk out, lifting each foot with caution. 

“Don’t.” Brenden hears softly from behind him. “Don’t leave.”

He stops and turns around, wondering if he’d imagined it, but there is James clearly awake and trying to get up. Brenden is quick to the side of the bed, “Hey, hey, stop,” he says before lightly pushing James shoulder to get him back down. James frowns, but stays this time. He doesn’t meet Brenden’s gaze, he knows his friend is studying him.

“You need rest, Kid” Brenden finally supplies while he brushes a few stray hairs back from James’ face.

“So do you,” James counters, “You look like shit.” 

He does, on both accounts. James reaches out and grabs the hem of Brenden’s shirt, drawing him closer to the bed. “Please. I’m sorry, Captain.” James whimpers looking up a Brenden with heavy eyelids. 

Brenden groans, James has him. It’s all in the eyes. Brenden knows James, probably a bit too well, he can see that James is hurting from more than just physical symptoms. He goes around the bed and shucks off everything but his boxer briefs before gently climbing in, trying not to disturb his friend too much. He leaves some space between them, but James whines and Brenden butts up against so they’re nearly flush.

As Brenden is getting settled, he realizes that James is wearing one of his old Stars sweaters, he can see ‘Morrow,’ emblazoned on the back. Brenden touches the faded letters, tracing them lightly with his fingertips. “It looks good on you, Kid.” He leans over and kisses James’ stubbled cheek. The younger man has his eyes closed, but a soft smile crosses his lips.

As Brenden settles back down, he notices something else; James is facing a framed picture sitting on the bedside table that wasn’t there before. It’s his picture.

The picture is from a few years ago when the Stars had taken a trip to a local lake for “team bonding” during training camp. James and Brenden are standing side by side, each with an arm around the other. They’re both a little sweaty, obviously shirtless and smiling like idiots. Neither is really looking at the camera, they are turned into the other, laughing about a joke that Brenden doesn’t remember. The setting is beautiful, but the moment is better.


End file.
